


Just Breathe

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>12 hours after Chains of Babylon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estrella30](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/gifts).



Dean has a panic attack the minute they clear the foothills of Asher's Grove and the skyline spreads out in front of them, huge and limitless.

It's a beautiful day. The sky is like Dean imagines the ocean, turned upside down and the sun is knife-sharp, putting an edge on everything and making it seem warmer than it really is. What clouds there are, are high and thin, whiter than the snow. Dean doesn't know why that feels ironic, that his heart is trying to hammer its way out of his chest on such a lovely day, but it does and if he had any breath to do it with, he thinks he'd laugh.

Sam had wanted Dean to drive, but Dean's just as glad he didn't as Sam jerks the Impala over to the shoulder and Dean claws his way out, chilled through and gasping. No air. There's not enough air. How can there be all this sky and not enough air?

Sam is talking to him but Dean can't hear him, only watch the movement of his lips and past him… There's so much space. So much…

Dean feels like he could get sucked away in the emptiness. After God knows how long in cramped and shadowy fluorescent-lit hallways, dim, tiny cabins and narrow lightless mine shafts, it's too much, no boundaries, no reference. Even outdoors, there'd been the mountains hemming him in, breaking up the sky into manageable pieces. And now there's nothing.

Sam's hands are on him, tangled in the lapels of Dean's shirt, gripping his bicep, his shoulder. Dean tries to seize onto that—solid, material—and keep himself from floating away.

But then Sam jams his mouth down over Dean's, pushing—forcing—his breath into Dean's lungs. Dean feels his lungs inflate, tears his lips from Sam's long enough to gasp, inhale, and then gasp again.

"Breathe," Sam says, panting himself. His eyes are wild, huge, the pupils wide and blind in the razor-blade sunlight but his arms are tight, holding Dean up, holding Dean together. "Breathe."

Dean breathes.


End file.
